


Astronomy In Reverse: Excerpt 3

by pansley



Series: Winter!Dad [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gratuitous Superfamily, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rated T for mentions of violence, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansley/pseuds/pansley
Summary: An excerpt from Astronomy In Reverse where Peter loses his powers.Alternatively: Peter doesn't care about his dad's blood pressure.





	Astronomy In Reverse: Excerpt 3

The second time Peter comes down with an unbreakable fever, Bucky becomes convinced that there’s something very wrong with his son. This one isn’t as bad as the first—Peter is neither as out of commission nor down for as long as the first time—but it takes him longer to recuperate afterward, and the kid’s movements become sluggish and uncoordinated, his reflexes dulled. Bucky watches as Peter struggles to get back his former strength, and for the better part of a week after his fever hits, Peter is left in a completely weakened state.

So it’s hard for Bucky to be agreeable when Peter, on the first day he starts truly feeling better, begs him to be allowed to go out on patrol. Bucky knows it’s hard for Peter to go any length of time without being Spider-Man, but he’s wary and reluctant to set Peter loose at night in New York City after the last week of the kid being almost bedridden.

But after much begging and promise after promise that he’ll be safe and won’t take any unnecessary risks, Bucky gives in, and that’s how they end up on a freezing rooftop, Peter dressed in his Spider-Man suit, web-shooters aimed and ready to swing him off the side of the building.

“Remember what I said, Pete,” Bucky warns, tone leaving no room for argument. “You get tired, you stop. You start feeling sick, even a little bit—you stop. And so help me God, if you find trouble and need to intervene, you _call me first._ Understand?”

“I will, I will!” Peter assures, a laugh clinging to the coattails of his words. “Dad, I _promise,_ I’ll be safe.”

“I know you will, sweetheart,” Bucky says with a sigh, giving the kid a pat on the back. “Your old man’s just a worrywart, is all.”

Bucky can see the outline of Peter’s smile beneath his mask as he shoots a string of webbing directly at the building across from them, bracing himself to leap. “I’ll see you in a little bit!”

“See you, kiddo,” Bucky replies, and watches as Peter jumps.

And knows immediately that something is _wrong._

Peter cries out—no, _screams_ out in pain when the web pulls tight, weighed down by his body, the weight of all of it resting solely on his one arm, which has never caused him pain before, so why now? Peter tries immediately to shoot another web, but he _misses,_ and hits the side of the building without sticking to it.

Bucky watches in mute horror as Peter dangles off the side of the building from his web-shooter, trying desperately to find purchase on the flat concrete, but his hands and feet aren’t sticking, and when Bucky realizes that Peter’s powers are apparently _gone_ and he could, at any moment, fall to his death, he jumps from the rooftop down to the fire escape below him, and from there onto the roof of the shorter building beside him, running as fast as he can to reach the building Peter is perilously hanging from across the way.

It takes an agile jump for Bucky to reach the balcony just above where Peter is still clinging to his web for dear life, but Bucky manages, and then is pulling Peter up by the rope still attached to his wrist as he frantically repeats, “It’s all right, you’re all right, kid, look at me—no, don’t look down, look at _me._ That’s right, it’s okay, I’ve got you, Peter, I’ve got you.” And by the end of it, he’s pulled Peter up enough to reach down and grab him and lift him onto the balcony, Peter heaving and out of breath from the panic, numbly latching onto Bucky’s chest as his narrow shoulders shake with fear.

“Kid,” Bucky says, his own hands trembling as he returns the hug. “What happened? Where’re your powers?”

“Gone,” Peter whispers, brokenly, his voice jagged and wrecked, a shattered assembly of syllables. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened. They’re _gone._ ”  
  


* * *

  
To say that neither of them takes it well is an understatement.

Bucky can see the way Peter struggles with losing his healing factor after the falling incident, which leaves the boy’s arm badly sprained and trapped in a splint for two weeks. Peter’s eyesight also gets much worse, revealing that he actually used to wear prescription glasses before the bite, glasses that he no longer has and Bucky has to save up to be able to afford. In the meantime, Peter is left a blurry-sighted tripping hazard, and Bucky finds himself shadowing the boy much more often than he used to, simply so he can reach out and catch Peter when he inevitably stumbles and almost falls.

But mostly, Peter completely refuses to believe his powers are really gone, and the most frustrating and infuriating part of that is that the kid keeps stubbornly trying to “re-awaken” them. He tries to climb buildings, tries to swing on his webs—even tries, to Bucky’s complete fucking disbelief, to _confront thugs_ he runs into on the street, despite the fact that he’s half-blind and 100lbs when wet and couldn’t overpower a fucking bunny rabbit in his current state, and if Bucky hadn’t been following him, hadn’t been there to save him, Peter would have been fucking _killed, again._

“I can’t believe you.”

“Dad, really, it was fine—I’m sure I could’ve done it if you’d just let me! I _know_ my powers will come back when I really need them! You just have to, y’know, _let_ me need them first!”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Bucky asks, rounding on the kid and fixing him with a heated glare. “You want me to let you run off and get _stabbed_ on the off-chance that it _might_ get you your powers back? How can you ask me to do that?”

A guilty look settles on Peter’s face, but he raises his head, stubbornly. “Because I _need_ to get my powers back, Dad! I can’t stay like this—I can’t be Spider-Man like this!”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Bucky says before he can stop himself, hating the utterly crushed look that crosses Peter’s face. “No, kid, listen to me—maybe this, whatever, fluke—maybe it’s a good thing, a blessing in disguise. You can… _we_ can give being normal a shot. We could have normal lives. _You_ could.”

He steps forward and rests his hands on Peter’s shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. “Maybe this is a chance for you to have a normal childhood, Peter. Be a regular kid. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“But…” Peter says, eyes wide and downcast. “But I’m _not_ a regular kid. I’m Spider-Man.”

Bucky almost says, _not without your powers, you’re not,_ but he stops himself in time, knowing that that isn’t true, that it’s not Peter’s abilities that make him the hero he is.

“And when your powers come back, you can keep being Spider-Man, kid, but until then…” He kneels down so Peter can gaze down on him, see the desperation in his eyes. “I can’t let you risk your life on the off-chance that it _might_ get your powers back. I can’t risk losing you, Peter. Please.”

Peter looks at him, and Bucky can see the part of him that wants to argue be smothered by the part that wants to heed his dad’s request.

So Peter nods. “Okay.”  
  


* * *

  
Sometimes Bucky worries he’s taken this “Give Peter a Normal Life” idea too far, but he can’t help himself. There’s something about this whole situation that feels like Bucky’s been given a second chance—a restart he didn’t know he’d been hoping for. The very circumstance that brought him and Peter together in the first place is also the thing that guaranteed Peter could never have a normal family, not with that kind of secret identity. But now, Peter is just like every other regular kid, so how can Bucky _not_ try to give him the childhood he almost missed out on?

The clothes that used to fit him now hang off Peter’s thinned-out form, his body no longer retaining muscle mass since his powers have disappeared. Bucky saves up enough to get Peter an eye exam and the prescription lenses that follow it, and Peter comes home from school the next day with his frames held together by tape since the little klutz apparently tripped in the hallway and landed on his face. The bruise across the bridge of his nose corroborates that story.

Bucky finds himself encouraging Peter to be a lot more social than he used to, and while it’s hard having Peter out of the house more often, it comforts Bucky to know that his kid is out with his friends, socializing, having a _real_ high school experience, interacting with his peers without having to lie and hide things from them. Bucky encourages Peter to do things he’s spent months wishing the kid could do, if only they’d been different people, if only it wasn’t a risk for Peter to take part in things. And now that he can, well, Bucky’s a lot happier about it than Peter is.

Until he gets the phone call.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Uhm, Peter’s dad, it’s—it’s Ned, I-I need your help, Peter needs your help!”

Bucky’s bolting up and heading for the door before Ned finishes speaking. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“We saw these guys trying to break into this bodega a-and Peter, he, uhm, he tried to stop them—they beat him up pretty bad. I tried to call an ambulance b-but he wouldn’t let me, he said to call you, s-so—”

Bucky feels the blood rushing through his body. The muscles behind his eyes ache as his vision goes red.

_“Where are you?”_   
  


* * *

  
When he turns the corner into the alleyway and sees Ned crouched next to a bruised and bleeding Peter crumpled on the filthy alley floor, Bucky almost starts screaming from how angry he gets. He clearly doesn’t hide it very well, because Ned goes ghostly pale and stands up straight like a soldier about to be cussed out by his commanding officer. Peter also looks worried, but less so—although that’s mostly due to the fact that he’s squinting vaguely in Bucky’s direction, hardly following him through the bruised mounds that used to be his eyes. “Dad?”

“It’s me,” Bucky says, and the heated tone of his voice does make Peter’s expression dampen slightly with worry. It’s not a sight Bucky enjoys, but he’s too worked up to alleviate it right this second. He turns to Ned instead. “You all right?”

Ned nods, a succession of quick, jerky movements that highlight just how petrified he is. Bucky takes a deep breath and says, as calmly as he can, “Good. Get on home then. I’ll take it from here.” To which Ned responds by shooting Peter a concerned look, only moving to heed Bucky’s orders once the man bends down and starts gingerly lifting Peter into his arms, ignoring the way the kid quietly groans.

When Ned is gone around the corner, Bucky silently and tensely checks what appear to be the worst of Peter’s injuries, thanking every bit of luck he has that nothing seems life-threatening. Peter quietly whimpers as his fractured arm is moved so Bucky can inspect it, and full-on sobs when he presses down on the blackening bruises over his ribs, discovering the cracked cartilage there.

The sound waters down Bucky’s rage somewhat, his nurturing side kicking into gear listening to Peter cry in pain. “Shh, kid, you’re all right. It feels a lot worse than it is. Probably going to hurt like a bitch for a while, but you’re going to be okay. Let’s get you home.”

His heart breaks at the loud and pitiful cry of pain Peter makes when he lifts the boy fully into his arms, and completely shatters when Peter wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck and sobs, “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. Sorry I—I worried you. I didn’t mean to. Please—please don’t be mad at me.”

He sighs and holds his son a little tighter. “You could have _died,_ Peter, what were you trying to prove? Do I have to follow you around all the time to keep you safe? Are you _that_ determined not to listen to me?”

“Not that,” Peter says quietly, sniffling. “It’s just, it’s so hard, I still feel so responsible for helping people all the time, but… I _can’t._ I didn’t even mean to get involved Dad, honest, I just saw them and—next thing I knew, I was running over and yelling at them to stop and… then they… crap, I think my lungs are broken. They really hurt.”

“That would be the stuff holding your ribs together. Or, well—the stuff that _used_ to be holding them together, anyway.”

“Ugghh.”

Bucky hugs him a little tighter. “I think it’s pretty fair to say that you’re grounded,” he says, noting the way Peter wilts slightly in his arms. “But I also think it’s fair to say we’re going to spend said grounding curled up on the couch with a lot of pillows, painkillers, and bags of frozen peas while we work our way through your DVD collection. Sound good?”

He can feel Peter smile against his shoulder, and can hear the sleepiness in his small voice. “Uh huh.”  
  


* * *

  
“No. No, Peter, no. Absolutely not.”

“But I know it would work!” Peter protests, his non-splinted arm gesturing animatedly as he argues. “It’s what gave me my powers in the first place! Mr. Osborn could help!”

“I don’t like it,” Bucky says, his expression dark as a deep-seated distrust rises up in him. “Your uncle didn’t trust this guy either, right?”

Peter’s shoulders slouch slightly. “Well… no, but—”

“And he was supposed to be your father’s best friend, wasn’t he?” Bucky half-asks, half-says. “And you were childhood friends with his son? You guys were close?”

Peter looks confused now, his brows drawing together uncomprehendingly. “Um, yeah, Harry. We were best friends—”

“So you were close with his son and he was close with your father, he offered you an internship at his lab, he wrote you a recommendation letter so you could get into your school,” Bucky lists off, watching as Peter’s face grows more and more lost. “And after all that, Peter, where was this guy when you were getting thrown around and on the streets? If he gave a damn, why the hell wasn’t he there for his _best friend’s_ kid? His own kid’s best friend?”

Peter seems very small all of a sudden, his slight frame shrinking in on itself. “I don’t know. He’s—he’s a busy guy, and it’s not like I—it’s not like I’m his responsibility or anything, you know? He—he didn’t have to—”

“Kid, look at it from my perspective, please. This rich scientist conducts experiments with radiation on live animals, your own uncle didn’t trust him for shit, and when his best friend’s kid _really_ needed him, he couldn’t even be bothered to make sure no one was hurting you? And you expect me to let you waltz into his lab and tell him about your superpowers? For all we know, kid, he’d lock you up in there to study you. There’s no way in hell. Forget it.”

“Mr. Osborn’s not like that!” Peter protests, the wideness of his eyes accentuated by the thick glasses perched on his nose, shadowed by the deep purple bruises still covering his face. “He’s really nice, he’d never do something like that. Uncle Ben just—he was just really protective, that’s all—besides, it’s the only thing we haven’t tried!”

Bucky sighs, running the cool metal of his metal hand over his aching forehead. “Peter, the only thing _you_ haven’t tried is giving being a normal kid a chance. Look at you!” He gestures to the splint on Peter’s arm, the bruises littering his ribs underneath it. “I can’t even let you hang out with Ned without you running head-first at every damn thug you see! That is _not_ what normal kids do!”

“It’s what Captain America would do,” Peter says quietly, his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. “I don’t _want_ to be a regular kid, Dad. I want to help people. If I can’t be Spider-Man anymore, then who am I?”

Sympathy wells up in Bucky, taking in Peter’s defeated posture, his hurt face. It’s not like he’s intentionally disregarding Peter’s dreams, but what other choice does he have? Peter’s courage and compassion aren’t going to keep him alive in a fight.

“You’re my son,” he says, taking Peter’s small face in his hands. “You don’t have to be anyone else. It’s all right if you stay like this, Peter. My kid.” He pulls him into a tight hug, patting his upper back reassuringly when Peter slumps against his chest. “You’re the only one who’s expecting you to be somebody else. You’re enough, Peter.”

Peter lightly sniffles against his chest, clutching Bucky’s shirt with his unbroken arm. “You’re not… going to say I should go live with someone else?” he asks, almost too quiet for Bucky to hear. “You still want to be my dad? Even though I’m not like you anymore?”

Bucky’s heart stops. “God, Peter, is _that_ what you’ve been worrying about?” he says, pulling the boy back slightly so he can gaze down at his tear-filled eyes. “You think I only let you in because of your powers? That has nothing to do with it, kid.”

He kneels down, his hands moving from Peter’s back to hold his shoulders, ensuring he stays staring down at him clearly as Bucky says, “I’m not sending you anywhere. You’re my son.” The tears overflow from Peter’s eyes, running in hot streams down his cheeks. “You’ll always be my son.”

Peter surges forward and wraps his good arm around Bucky’s neck, clinging to him. Bucky hugs him back, mindful of his kid’s injuries as he holds him tightly.  
  


* * *

  
Bucky’s grateful that the lenses in Peter’s glasses are so outrageously thick, since they’ve managed not to crack all _four_ times thus far that Peter’s broken the frame. He tries to be quiet as he lays the busted pieces out on his mattress, not wanting to wake Peter, still sleeping soundly on the loveseat a few feet away.

Bucky gently bends the cheap metal frame back into place, smoothing out the dents and warping from being dropped and fallen on so many times. He can’t believe how clumsy Peter can be, and not for the first time, Bucky wonders just how many minor injuries have gone completely unnoticed by him because Peter was fully healed by the time he got home.

As he delicately screws the broken earpiece back into the lens socket of the rest of the frame, Bucky allows himself to admit that his protective instincts have maybe gotten out of control these last few weeks. It was one thing to allow this kid to be as reckless and self-sacrificing as he wanted to be back when Peter could heal a broken bone in two days max; now, Peter can’t so much as knock into a wall without forming a bruise that’ll last a whole week. Bucky thought he’d been protective before, back when Peter was nearly indestructible. Now, the anxiety of just how fragile his kid really is keeps him up at night.

He wonders at what point will Peter tire of his helicopter-parenting, but at the same time, it’s half of Peter’s own fault for being such an injury-prone danger magnet. The magnitude of his anxiety surprises Bucky; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this concerned for someone else’s safety and wellbeing.

But then again, he’s never been a father until now, either.

And maybe _that_ should surprise Bucky, just how easily he was able to step into this role, to go from being an adult living with a kid who needed to be taken care of to actually considering himself to be this kid’s dad, blood relations aside, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t surprise Bucky, because after only knowing Peter for a few short weeks, Bucky already wanted him to have everything. He wanted the best for Peter, wanted him to flourish and thrive and succeed at everything he wanted. He wanted him to be well, to be safe, to be happy and know that he’s loved. And maybe Bucky was quick to feel those things, maybe he loved Peter too fiercely too fast, but that doesn’t invalidate the family they’ve become together. It doesn’t take away the fact that Peter is, technicalities be damned, his kid.

He finishes assembling the frame together, good as new, and picks up the small microfiber cloth to wipe the lenses clean as a final touch. The loveseat squeaks as Peter rolls over, swaddled in his sleeping bag, and sighs quietly as he stirs awake. Bucky smiles to himself as he watches Peter stretch his arms out from the mouth of his sleeping bag, poking out like bunny ears, before his sleep-tousled head emerges and he yawns, gently, blinking across at Bucky sleepily.

“Morning,” Bucky says, smiling, folding Peter’s newly-fixed glasses and setting them on the mattress beside him. “How’d you sleep?”

Peter smiles, his eyes fluttering closed, before he tiredly blinks them back open. “Mmm, good. How’d you—”

He suddenly bolts upright, startling Bucky, his eyes wide and focused and clear.

“What?” Bucky asks, watching Peter’s small chest heave as he gasps. “What’s wrong?”

“Dad,” Peter breathes, disbelievingly, looking up and meeting Bucky’s gaze, his big brown eyes fixed on him. “I can _see._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> None of these excerpts are strictly canon; they're more like deleted scenes that people wanted to see but still could've believably happened within the main fic.


End file.
